


dear friend, it is time to say our goodbyes

by jemmasimmns (laurellance)



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: F/M, RipFic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 17:49:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15200168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurellance/pseuds/jemmasimmns
Summary: In which following his sacrifice with the time drive, Rip Hunter lands somewhere he isn't acquainted with and meets that earth's Sara Lance. Discussions of the past and parting ensue.





	dear friend, it is time to say our goodbyes

In between the time it takes for Rip to realize he’s alive, _how_ , and the bucket of ice cold water to shake him awake, he debates giving the Legends one last send off. A letter, perhaps, something he could send them through an untraceable channel so that they wouldn’t dream of searching for him. Nothing relating to technology, since technology could be tracked. A long and hard path that would give his message wear and tear, to date it with the natural elements.

A wave of ice cold water hits his head and he sputters, coughing as to clear said water out of his throat. He’s next to wall, in a cobble stone alley. There’s a sign just out of his line of sight, but the way the street smelled of vomit and vodka, it was most likely signage for a bar.

Now, if only he knew where and when he was.

He hears a woman’s voice. Not imploring, not impatient, not annoyed. Resigned, tired. “Wake _up_.” To herself, he hears her huff: “It’s Christmas Day, and people still can’t make it inside?”

She forces him up, beacons for him to follow her inside. She looks familiar, this much Rip knows, but he can’t place it. Can’t place his surroundings or the time either, but maybe he could figure it out inside. It’s still dark outside, early morning. 

She sits him down at one of the round tables that scattered the room. It’s scarred with the rims of beer mugs, overlapping just like the Olympic Rings, only messier. Far messier. Sets a cup with tap water next to him and looks expectantly at him.

She’s got her hair in an half up half down hairstyle, blonde hair running down her shoulders. She absentmindedly taps her fingers against the table, lounging back against the chair. She’s completely at ease with herself and she watches him, runs her eyes over him the way a cat would a canary before devouring the said bird head first. From her shirt, there’s a hint of a tattoo. Rip guesses it’s a canary. He can’t place why.

Rip looks at her in what he suspects is confusion, and she sighs, involuntarily. “My name’s Sara,” she tells him, “and it’s two in the morning, Christmas Day.” The next question comes just as fast. “Why were you passed out in front of my door?”

“I,” Rip starts, and he’s not sure explaining to her that sacrificing himself to delay a time demon is the best of responses, “am not sure.”

She doesn’t look convinced. She deadpans. “So you fell out of the sky.”

“That would be accurate to say, yes.” Rip takes a sip of his water. It’s lukewarm.

“Look,” and this woman must be Sara Lance, because Rip finds her very familiar, “if you don’t want to tell me how you got here, it’s fine. Just tell me where you’re going so I won’t worry.”

“My destination is,” Rip starts and his mind is totally blank, “anywhere but here.”

She doesn’t look too soothed by that. “That’s not a destination, but I’ll take it.”

“What is this place?” Rip asks, the dark brown wood blending in with the twilight sky that laid above them.

“It’s called _Legends_ ,” the woman starts, and Rip ignores the tactile feeling that was coming hastily up his throat, “and I inherited it from the previous owner. You look just like him, by the way.”

“It is a rather odd coincidence,” Rip starts, and he learns now this is a different earth, just as this was a different Sara. “My name is Michael.”

The look of suspicion mixed with disbelief fades, somewhat. “You don’t look like a Michael to me.”

Rip laughs, from the absurdity of this conversation and the shock, the realization of what was happening. He’s in another earth, somewhere where time travel wasn’t present. And, he can’t tell if this is better, he’s talking to this Earth’s Sara Lance. Time has treated her cruelly, he figures, based on how weary she looked. She carries with her an air of suspicion, an aura of distrust and the infinite patience that came from repenting for prior mistakes. She’s aged well in spite of it but he sees the barely disguised cracks well.

In spite of it all, she’s still beautiful, so so beautiful.

She looks at him, gives him a quizzical look. “You’re a very odd man,” and she shakes her head discretely, but she looks at him differently, like she’s trying to get a read off him.

She _should_ know him, Rip wants to tell her, but the memory of the Legends was too raw for him to deal with right now.

He clears his throat, loudly, awkwardly. “When does the next tram leave?”

“Tomorrow. Everything’s closed on Christmas,” she mutters the last part, with a hint of bitterness. “There are taxi drivers that leave in the evening, but they hike the prices, if you want to go that way.”

“You don’t sound too excited about Christmas,” Rip observes, and he’s tempted to tell her more. But this Sara isn’t his Sara, and it pains him in a way he never anticipated. 

“It’s my birthday,” she explains, “and besides, I’ve got too much work to do to really celebrate.”

Rip gives a sardonic smile. “Making up for past mistakes?” He can’t stop the short, bitter laugh that escapes him. “I’ve had plenty of experience with that.”

She looks at him again, trying to trace the lines on his face, searching for an answer as to why he _knew_. But those were things his Sara knew, and he doesn’t want to burden this earth’s Sara with his motley misadventures. “And what would you know about that?” She scoffs.

“Far too much,” Rip tells her, and if the memories that come back to him are any indication, he still found himself fondly remembering the Legends.

“Yeah,” she tells him, “tell me about it.” She recognizes a kindred spirit in him, as silly as that sounded. He’s a stranger, yes, but something about him seemed so, _so_ familiar. It was like staring into a mirror and seeing herself in a different body; scars and bruises in all the wrong places, but the same lessons learned, for all the wear and tear they presented.

“My friends think I’m dead,” Rip starts, and it’s the worst idea he’s ever had, sharing this with a stranger. But it’s Sara, and he trusts, trusted Sara with his life. He would always trust her. “And I haven’t got a bloody clue where I am.” _I can’t go back_ remains unsaid, but by the way she winces ever so subtlety, he thinks she understands.

“I used to tell people to head out to the city,” she’s lost in memories now, and that feeling was so, so familiar, “so they could find themselves. Now, I’m not sure it makes much of a difference.”

“What changed?” He can’t stop himself from asking, because this Sara reminds him of his Sara, the woman he’s grown extremely fond of, irregardless of the water under the bridge.

This Sara can’t believe she’s telling a total stranger this. But she trusts him, and she can’t place why. “A near death experience,” she explains, “and I’ve been here ever since.”

“This would be my first,” he tells her, and he’s really not sure how he should react. “It’s been very- I’m not sure how to describe it.”

“You’ll learn to live with it,” she tells him, “don’t worry. What was it you were saying about your friends?”

“I don’t think I’ll see them again,” he can’t place why he winces so tenderly at it, “and I’m not sure I want to.” There’s a pause and she looks at him, waiting for more. “For all the time I’ve spent apart from them, it seems that everything I do revolves around them.”

“So it’s a goodbye?” She asks him, and the empathy in her eyes, her beautiful, kind eyes, is clear. “Cause that’s what it sounds like.”

He sighs. Can’t help himself, really. “I don’t know.”

“Do you want to see them again?”

“I suppose I should, but the idea doesn’t excite me.” It’s a mixed bag; but then again, so was everything regarding the Legends now. He would give them their space, let them move on.

Besides, he doubts he would be of much help to them anyways.

She looks at him dead in the eye. “It’s a goodbye.” Three spoken words have never hurt more than they did now. They tear at him and yet, he can’t deny the truth in them.

He doesn’t reply, but then again, he doesn’t have to.

She jerks her head towards the door, eyes turned towards the window. “The first taxi’s here. If you’re lucky, they won’t jack the price up too much.” She pauses, if only to look at him in concern. “You do have money on you, right?”

Rip pulls his wallet out of jacket. “I do, yes.”

“Well,” she tells him, “you better go. They’re not gonna wait forever. I’ll see you around, Michael.” At the last sentence, she grants him a kind smile, the rare kind that he suspects she gave very few people.

“As shall I, Sara.” He heads out the door, and as he passes by the window, he can’t resist peeking through the window to see if she was still there. She’s since moved onto other tasks, cleaning the tables and mopping the floor.

This Sara may not have been his Sara, but she was just as radiant and just as breath taking.

And so, Rip says goodbye.

(There’s a story that’s repeated by every kind of time traveller: on certain nights, when it wasn’t too cloudy, when the timing was just right, there was a message inscribed in the stars, within the time stream. _Thank you for the adventure of a lifetime_ , it reads, followed by RIP, presumably standing for Rest In Peace.

It’s said that on some nights, you would find a blonde haired woman with a broken past and the fight of the White Canary spending all night looking at the message, smiling bittersweetly.

It’s all a myth, of course.)

**Author's Note:**

> Not likely to be canon compliant but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Find me on tumblr at riphunter.


End file.
